Chapter 2
After the Demon Dragon fell, humanity unified the continent.
The surviving monsters retreated either to the scorching lands of the south or the frozen regions of the north, while humanity claimed fertile lands as the reward for victory.
Then came the founding of the Empire.
The king who had led the war to victory executed Riyan, the traitor who had supposedly tried to seize the throne amid the political chaos.
Afterward, seeking greater stability and unity, the kingdom announced its transformation into an empire.
The king, now Emperor, declared:
"We must never allow such a tragedy to happen again."
The terror caused by monsters remained deeply engraved in humanity's memory.
Because of that, the people accepted the Emperor's oppression and control.
Local lords and warlords who had once maintained independent forces were absorbed under the Empire.
And using the traitor Riyan as justification, the training and cultivation of knights came under strict surveillance.
Nearly two centuries passed.
Eventually, an age arrived where knights, in the original meaning of the word, could only be found in children's stories.
The Imperial Capital, Citadel.
Four enormous gates rose in the four directions.
Walls stretched outward from them like branches, forming an irregular diamond around the city.
And at the innermost point of those walls...
The Imperial Palace stood atop a cliff with the sea at its back.
It was a structure that symbolized both the birth and glory of the Empire.
On the outskirts beneath the palace stood a building enclosed by towering walls.
The Rodus Fighter Training Center.
It was a training center that supplied fighters to the Imperial Arena.
Under an empire founded upon oppression and control, the arena played an important role in relieving the frustrations of the people.
Many different events were held there.
Gladiatorial combat.
Beast hunts.
Mounted competitions.
And the fighters used as expendable entertainment in those events were produced by training centers.
The reputation of each training center depended on the quality of the fighters it raised.
Berka, director of the Rodus Training Center, had only just returned from a business trip when he received shocking news.
His expression twisted.
"Say that again."
"...The monster is dead."
"Dead?"
"Yes, Director."
Berka staggered as though all the strength had left his body.
The instructor reporting to him quickly pulled out a chair.
Berka dropped into it and stared blankly ahead.
"A monster? If I remember correctly, the only monster appearing in any of our recent matches was the Sharak."
"...Yes. It was the Sharak."
"Don't talk nonsense. That match was supposed to be nothing more than feeding time."
"That is also correct."
Monsters were rare.
In the distant past, during the war against the Demon Dragon, people supposedly saw them everywhere.
But in the present era, capturing one required sending an expedition far beyond the Empire's safe lands.
And every monster brought back at great cost had an owner.
They were something like pets.
Just larger.
And considerably more vicious.
It was a secret hobby available only to high-ranking nobles with far too much money, far too much time, and enough influence that no one could object to them keeping a monster.
Of course, ordinary spectators also became excited when watching humans fight monsters in the arena.
But certain twisted nobles were different.
They took pleasure simply from knowing that the monster craving blood belonged to them personally.
"Who owned it? Fenric... Marquis Fenric Novale?"
"Yes."
"And that bastard is..."
The instructor knew exactly what answer Berka was hoping not to hear.
"He is a permanent member of the Imperial Arcana Council."
"Damn it!"
Bang!
Berka slammed his fist against the table.
The instructor flinched.
"What the hell am I supposed to tell him? 'The rat we threw in as food bit the cat to death. How unfortunate'? Damn it! What are we supposed to do?!"
"..."
"Who assigned the feed that day?"
"Instructor Jarek."
"Cut off his right hand and send it to Marquis Fenric. Luckily, Jarek is left-handed. The Marquis probably won't know that."
"Only that...?"
"What? You think that's all we should send? Want me to cut off your lower half and send that too? Wrap it in gold, silver, whatever the hell you can find, and send it with the hand!"
Sometimes there were things more precious than life.
Afraid Berka might suddenly change his mind, the instructor nodded frantically.
Berka continued fuming for a while before eventually calming himself.
"Fine. Anything else happen?"
"Th-There is one more thing..."
"What?"
The instructor hesitated.
Should he say it?
Should he keep quiet?
But when both options were likely to cause trouble, it was usually better to speak and ask forgiveness afterward.
"They say... a star fell yesterday."
"A star?"
"Yes. A star. Everyone in the city is talking about it. One of the instructors on night duty said he saw it too..."
"Did I hear you wrong? You mean one of those stars in the sky?"
"Yes."
"Get out."
"...Sir?"
"Get the hell out before I kill you!"
At the vicious dismissal, the instructor spun around and grabbed the doorknob.
Just then, Berka, who was pressing a hand against his throbbing temple, called out again.
"Wait. That monster."
"Yes?"
"Who exactly was the feed that killed it?"
The underground dungeon was damp.
Riyan sat upright inside a cell, soaked in sweat and blood.
He tilted his head.
Where am I?
He remembered defeating the monster.
He also remembered the cheers of the crowd afterward.
Then several armed men had roughly dragged him underground.
He had considered fighting back.
But killing the monster had consumed a great deal of strength.
And with his current body being so weak, he couldn't properly display his full skill.
His body.
At that thought, Riyan lowered his head and studied himself.
Thin arms and legs.
A torso so starved that his ribs stood out clearly.
Chains around his wrists that barely allowed him to move.
He organized his thoughts again.
Why was he being treated like this in such a gloomy place?
Killing monsters was natural.
That truth had been carved into his bones during the endless war.
But this world he had awakened in clearly did not share that same truth.
I've never heard of a place like this.
During more than a decade of war, Riyan had met people from all over the continent.
Listening to stories about the different worlds they had experienced had been one of his few pleasures.
Yet no matter how deeply he searched his memories, he had never heard of a culture where humans were treated as slaves and forced to fight monsters.
Judging by his current situation, wasn't he being treated more like a monster himself?
Riyan released a quiet sigh.
Step. Step.
Footsteps echoed through the corridor.
A dim shadow eventually fell across the bars.
Two figures appeared.
"This the one?"
"Yes."
"Leave us."
"Understood."
The person who appeared to be a guard turned around without a single question.
For a prison guard, the dungeon was his kingdom.
The pride of a man who ruled his own little domain.
Yet he had abandoned that throne without even questioning the order.
That meant the person giving the command held considerable authority.
And there was something else.
Despite standing before someone who had killed a monster, he showed no concern about danger.
A strong man.
The cell door opened.
"Raise your head, slave."
"..."
Checking someone's eyes was important.
Through the eyes, one could see another person's state of mind and measure their will.
That knowledge could decide what came next.
And it wasn't an advantage limited to one side.
It was a fair process available to both.
Riyan raised his head.
Their gazes met.
A silent conversation began.
